


letting go

by syari



Series: War Heroes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Coping, Grief/Mourning, POC Harry Potter, Post-Canon, Post-Second War with Voldemort, The Golden Trio, and then harry does too, hermione gets a makeover, if that even needs saying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 22:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12850815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syari/pseuds/syari
Summary: After the war, Hermione deals with guilt in her own way.





	letting go

The faucet creaked as Hermione shut off the stream of water, flicking the last of the droplets off her fingers. She eyed her slightly warped reflection in the cracked and grimy edges of the mirror. Bloodshot eyes she didn't make the effort to meet. Dry, ashy skin interrupted by small cuts, her forearms carefully turned down. The frizzy mass of hair that continued to wilt and break despite her best efforts after a year of malnutrition and terror.

With a pang, she suddenly saw her mother, laughing with her all those years ago, running her hands through Hermione's hair while they sat by her bed, her mother's hands deftly weaving the same braids she always wore to school, another thing for the bullies to tease her for that she'd never tell her mother about on the chance she'd lose this, sunshine and oil and the deft strokes of the comb on her scalp.

Her hands tightened on the edge of the sink. She had taken that from her mother, too.

Blinded by the onslaught of rage and pain, she fumbled along the countertop, hissing as her fingertips flared with pain as her hand connected with Ron's old straight razor. She stopped.

The first strand of hair sliced so easily she felt her stomach swoop, her shoulders infinitesimally lighter than all the world's weight. The next put up more of a struggle, and soon she was fighting back tears of frustration as her reflection taunted her, tufts of hair sticking out at odd angles from her scalp mixed in with the longer chunks running down her back.

Slamming the razor down on the counter so hard the old tile cracked, Hermione stormed out of the bathroom and down the gloomy stairs of Grimmauld Place to the kitchen. The door was open, but Ron and Harry still startled when she barged in, gaunt and wary from a war none of them had really stopped fighting, even now.

As she neared the bench where Kreacher kept all the kitchen implements, Ron made a noise followed swiftly by Harry shushing him. She ignored them, seizing on the industrial scissors left on the edge of the wood, reveling in the slight clink the blades made as they sliced easily through the mess on her head. She cut and cut until the only hair she could feel was ragged on her scalp and suddenly arms were wrapped around her waist and she sobbed as hands drew the scissors away and Harry hugged her tightly and whispered nonsensical words in her ear. She was only vaguely aware of Ron leaving the room, her hiccoughing sobs echoing after his retreat, and she only looked up from where her nose was pressed to Harry's shirt when Ron's hand stroking her head gently announced his return, running his fingers almost reverently over the bumps and tiny remnant curls on her scalp.

She made little protest as the two steered her to the sink and helped her wash the clippings off her head and neck, only sniffling a bit when Ron produced the razor she'd abandoned in the bathroom and began to move it smoothly, carefully over her scalp. She reveled in the pricking and her burning eyes and the love in her heart for these two boys, lost but still caring so much for her.

When he finished, Ron kissed her brow and helped Harry bundle her onto a bench at the long table while Kreacher, grumbling and groaning and muttering all the while, made something that seemed soup-adjacent. Now it was Harry's turn to leave while Ron sat with her and rubbed her back, neither saying a word while she leant into his warmth, tucked under his jaw.

After Kreacher had set out bowls of nearly-edible glop and retired back to his small cavern of scrounged heirlooms, Harry walked back in. Hermione could only huff a laugh into Ron's neck as she took in his bright eyes, beaming smile, and terribly shaved head as her heart swelled, and then all three were clasped together and shaking with helpless laughter.

"It—looks—so—so bad!" Hermione wheezed, trying to recover, but then Ron snorted and set them off again as Harry gamely protested, his eyes fairly glowing behind his crooked glasses and the firelight glowing off of incongrously pale scalp over the much darker skin of his face.

The next day, a sheepish Harry came in to breakfast with a full head of hair, Ron ribbing him about not even his magic being able to stand his atrocious haircut. Hermione just grinned, heart and shoulders lighter than they'd been in seven years.

**Author's Note:**

> For days I've been unable to shake the image of war-torn Hermione with a shaved head. You're welcome.


End file.
